Page 101 of Sleeping with the Enemy

But Miller wasn’t done, not when Astoria looked at her like that, eyes dark with her own need. She shifted, rolling them so Astoria lay beneath her. Miller’s hands made quick work of the zipper on Astoria’s slacks, peeling the dark fabric down along with Astoria’s underwear, revealing the neat trim of dark hair and the glistening folds underneath. Astoria’s rippled build was all lean power, her legs parting willingly as Miller settled in between them.

“I’ve got you,” Miller said. She started with kisses along Astoria’s inner thigh, nipping lightly at the skin, feeling her quiver. Astoria’s hands rested on Miller’s shoulders as Miller’s tongue slipped in, tasting her musky, intoxicating scent. Astoria let out a soft sigh, her hips lifting slightly.

It was playful in its slowness, Miller teasing with feather-light licks, circling her clit before sucking gently. Astoria’s breaths quickened, her fingers threading through Miller’s hair again.

“Yes, just like that,” she whispered, her voice husky.

Miller slid two fingers inside, feeling the warm, wet grip, and thrusted in time with her tongue. Astoria’s body responded with subtle rocks, vulnerability flashing in her eyes.

Miller curled her fingers deeper, pressing against that inner wall, her mouth relentless but tender. Astoria came with a shuddering cry, her pussy pulsing around Miller’s fingers as her body arched in release. She rode it out, easing Astoria through the aftershocks with soft kisses to her mound.

Miller couldn’t remember the last time she felt this settled. The sheets were a mess, Miller’s hair was completely mussed, and their legs were tangled together. But she was content.

Astoria’s head rested on Miller’s chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on Miller’s stomach. Miller could hear the ocean sloshing against the rocks through the open window, and somewhere in the house, a clock ticked.

“Your house is too quiet,” Miller whispered.

Astoria huffed a laugh against her skin. “Some people would call it peaceful.”

“It’s eerie. Do you even own a television?”

“There’s one in the theater room.”

“You have atheaterand you still don’t watch TV like a normal person?” A tinge of amusement threaded in her voice.

“I never claimed I was normal.” Astoria propped her chin on Miller’s chest, looking up at her with a lazy, satisfied smile. “Are you critiquing my home within an hour of sleeping with me?”

Miller made a noncommittal noise. “I’m critiquing it with love.”

Astoria’s smile widened. “I’ll allow it.”

Miller’s fingers found Astoria’s hair, stroking through the dark strands. It was still strange, being here like this. There was no rush to leave, no sneaking furtive glances at the clock, no knot of guilt in her stomach. It was just the two of them, together, with nowhere else to be.

“I could get used to this,” Miller said quietly.

Astoria’s hand stilled on her stomach. “Could you?”

“Yeah.” Miller met her eyes. “The creepy silent house, the theater room you never use, the complete absence of throw pillows?—”

“I have throw pillows.”

“You have two, and they’re both white. That’s just…staging.”

Astoria pinched her side, and Miller squirmed, laughing.

“I’m serious, though,” Miller said once she caught her breath. “I want this. I want you. All of it.”

Astoria shifted, propping herself up on one elbow. The lamplight caught her face, softening the angles. “All of it includes some things you might not love.”

“Like what?”

“Like the Phoenix Ridge Women in Business gala next month. I’m expected to attend.” Astoria’s mouth twitched. “As are significant others.”

Miller groaned. “Black tie?”

“Black tie.”

“Billionaires making small talk about philanthropy?”